Prologue


"I am ready to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the ordeal of meeting me is another matter."

-Winston Churchill


I'm not from around here.

It's the statement I've been using for what feels like forever. What does it tell you? Not much, huh? No name, original location, age, etc.

I use that phrase so often because it's easier than risking being sent to Altomare's cushy little mental hospital. I mean, it's better than telling the truth, you see?

I'm not from around here. Does that mean I'm from the mainland? No. Does it mean I'm from a different city? Nope. Does it mean I'm from a different region? Nah. Does it mean I'm from a different country? Not necessarily.

Does it mean I'm from a different existance; a different reality? I can't say that out loud or someone will declare me cuckoo for Coco Puffs and off I go. (Although, presently I can't say that out loud even if I wanted to.)

What I know is, I'm here now. What I don't know is why; what sent me here? I don't think it was a supernatural event; I'm not some special guy sent to save a galaxy or something. I know for damn sure I'm not here to break some horrible evil; hell, most days I can't break a five.

The best I can figure is I stumbled across a glitch in my matrix; that is, I learned that the multiverse theory is true. I've read a few stories of people stumbling into other dimensions, but they remain conscious when they land and can start wandering immediately.

When I woke up, it felt like somebody smashed the back of my head with a length of 2' by 4'. I had been hit by a car.

I should probably explain some more. I was some college student almost into his second year with a good GPA. My primary concerns were whether or not I'd score high enough to be exempt from my Statistics final (I really, really didn't want to take the Statistics final), and whether I'd get decent courses for next semester or not.

Obviously, I stopped caring about that sort of stuff once I realized I wasn't familiar with my surroundings anymore.

Left with only my school backpack, binder, ipod, and headphones, I had to figure out some way to survive in a world where nothing I knew made sense anymore.

I lived in a world ruled by greed and hatred. Now, I was in a world ruled by much more powerful figures.

I remember my first wasn't the best of days.

-.-

"...And one more time: Please don't 'do it' in the planetarium. I've already caught two people trying to do it; I waited for things to get a little bit faster, and then I stopped them. Your planetarium exam is in three weeks, so now's the time to study, not screw."

It was almost seven years ago. That's the statement one of my professors let us out of class with. I was concerned for the exam, primarily because it required my memorization of every constellation and even certain stars in those constellations. Imagine looking up at a clear night sky and having someone point to a cluster of stars and go "What's this constellation?" That's what I was looking forward to.

In hindsight, I realize that I was stressing out about something that didn't make much of a difference in the long run. Failure is, after all, always an option. As I walked back home, I was trying to think of how I'd prepare for the exam. My professor was kind enough to give us a list of stars and constellations to study, and he assured us all that he would only use those on the paper he gave us. I made the decision to look up the constellations and make index cards once I got home. I could study what they look like.

Still, deep down I knew that I needed to know more than what the constellations looked like. I needed to know where in the sky they were located, and I was not willing to go to the planetarium (I didn't have much time to, anyway. I also had a 15 page report due in another class) to study.

While I was walking, my mind was working on ways to get me through this semester. I had a submarine grade in one course (a submarine grade is any grade below C level), and I wasn't willing to accept a D.

Maybe if I had been paying a little more attention I would've been able to see the Mercedes tearing down the street at around 90. Instead, I was listening to my ipod and wondering how I was going to get myself a decent grade. I wasn't willing to let my GPA fall.

By the time I returned to reality, however, the Mercedes' horn had been blaring for a while, and the way the guy was moving around in it, I could tell he was having a problem with his brakes. Either that, or he was some asshole getting off to a song. All I know is, I looked up about a moment before the car hit me.

Oddly enough, the collision didn't hurt so much. I was out almost immediately.

Suddenly my grades didn't seem like so much of a problem anymore.

End of Prologue


This is one of those things where I'm not sure if it will continue, nor am I quite certain what I was thinking. It depends on review: If anyone likes it, alright then. If not, well, this story will go into the vault of stories that time forgot.

Assume that this guy (his name is revealed sometime next chapter) lives in a world where the pokémon franchise does not exist.